"No, no!" she panted. "Not yet—not yet! I am not sure——"
"Of me, of my love, dearest? Not sure?" he murmured reproachfully.
"Not sure of myself!" she said, locking her hands together. "I—I must think, I cannot think now. Ah, you have bewitched me——" and she put her hand to her brow, and looked down at him with a far-away, puzzled look. "I want to be alone, to think it all over. It seems too—too wild and improbable——"
"Think now, dearest. Give me your hand. I will not speak, I will not look at you!" he said, soothingly.
"No, no!" she said, almost fearfully, drawing her hand from him; and rising, she stood as if half giddy.
"You will leave me," he said, piteously, "with only——"
"I have said I—I will try!" she answered. "I will go now."
He sprung to his feet.
"Let me come with you—to the house, my dearest," he pleaded.
But she put up her hand.